The Sum of Things
by darkbird36
Summary: Sam is dead, but not gone. Warning: Death story. Will be multichapter ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Sum of Things

Author: Darkbird36

Category: Tragedy, angst, drama

Rating: M

Summary: Sam is dead, but not gone.

Warnings: DEATH STORY, obviously. Don't expect a happy ending, and don't read this if it'll upset you.

**A/N: This will be a multi-part story. Please head the warnings.

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"**Dying" means ceasing to be the same. Though this thing may pass into that, and that into this, the sum of things remains unchanged. **

_**Ovid (43 BC - 17 AD), Metamorphoses xx

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**_

Slumped against a birch tree with his brother's head in his lap, Dean pressed a shaking palm to his side and felt blood ooze between his numb fingers. It was more of a reflex than a real attempt to stem the bleeding, though.

Sammy was dead.

There was no reason to fight, anymore.

He looked down at his brother's blank face, feeling a terrible vacuum inside of him, as though his organs had all been sucked out into deep space. Sam's eyes were open, seemingly fixed on treetops lit by an early morning glow. Dean wanted to close them, sever that empty gaze, but could not suppress the irrational conviction that doing so would kill him.

Hisfree hand rested on Sam's chest, still unconsciously trying to stop the bleeding. But Sam had already stopped bleeding - stopped breathing or moving or blinking -the deep, jagged hole in his ribs growing cold under Dean's palm.

Despite that, Dean was frozen, locking in place by a grief so strong it should have crushed him. He stared at his brother's face, waiting for Sam to come back. Because he could not comprehend a life without his brother – the only way the world made sense was with Sam in it. Otherwise, how could the sun be rising, how could birds be darting through the gentle green rustling of the trees, signing?

How could he still be alive?

No. Sammy couldn't die and leave him here. _He_ was the one who was supposed to sacrifice himself foolishly for his brother. He'd been ready to die for Sam since he was a child, always knowing that he would have to. Not because he was brave, or suicidal, but because he knew out of the two of them, Sam was the one who could have survived the death of his brother. Dean could not.

And yet he had.

He felt as if the universe were tearing in two, with him at the breach. Torn between a blinding denial and the most terrible sense of reality he'd ever experienced.

Hisnerves screamed, but he was numb.

Sam was bathed in the golden glow of dawn, yet was cold.

Sam was dead, and he was alive.

None of these things made sense. So Dean waited, for the universe to make sense, for something to _fix this_, for him to be a brother again.

Or to bleed to death.

Whichever came first.

But so far Sammy was still staring blankly, and the flow of blood through his fingers had nearly stopped.

Dean's eyes somehow regained the ability to move, and his gaze drifted to rest on Sam's right hand, upturned on the forest floor. His brother's long fingers were curled gently towards the brightening sky, the nails a dusky bluish. Blood had trailed down his arm and pooled in his palm, now beginning to congeal and darken againsthis colorless skin.

"Sam," he blurted, his fingers grasping at the stiffening fabric of his brother's shirt.

"Sammy!"

Dean shook him, and Sam's head lolled sickeningly against his hip. Blood dribbled from his parted lips.

Rage and agony met like colliding trains in Dean's chest, metal twisting and screaming.

"Fuck you, f_uck you_," he sobbed, "You selfish bastard! It was never supposed to be you!"

Sam was silent and unmoving, but Dean could hear his brother'svoice echoing in his head.

_You're my brother, and I'd die for you…_

Something inside him broke, and he screamed with an anguish so intense that birds exploded from the treetops and the forest echoed with the loss of their song.

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A/N: Next chapter soon, if I can resist the urge to cry while I write. (Boy, I need therapy!) 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean lost himself for a while, lost everything and became empty. When he finally came back to himself, the sun was high in the afternoon sky and Sam was still staring sightlessly at the treetops.

Dean realized, distantly, that he would have to move eventually. But his body was like heavy, cold stone, and somehow the message to _get up_ got lost between his brain and his legs. Part of him still thought he might die there, but the truth was it was more of a hope than a reality. God had fucked him over and left him alive, the survivor – a role that was never meant to be his.

Had he died as well, it wouldn't have been nearly so bad. Two brothers, going out fighting in a blaze of glory – it wasn't nearly so good as Sam being alive, but it was oh, so much better than Sam dead, and he bereft and alone.

Anything was better than that…

A sudden _snap_ and rustle behind him made his heart seize in panic and he twisted, trying to find the source without relinquishing his hold on his brother. He caught a flash of red flannel and a shocked face.

"Hey, man, are you guys alright?"

A hiker, he realized; no threat to him, and therefore of no concern. He turned back to Sam, the strange numbness rolling in like a tide.

"Hey," the hiker repeated, moving closer. "Is that… blood?"

The stranger stepped around the tree, blanching as he saw Sam.

"Oh, Jesus. Fuck. Oh, fuck, man," he stammered, his eyes locked on Sam's chest, his unblinking eyes.

"He's- he's _dead_…"

Dean felt a surge of fury ignite his bones, and he glared at the hiker with such hatred and pain that the man stumbled backwards. Looking senseless with fear and horror, he turned and ran through the woods, crashing through branches and undergrowth.

Dean was glad he was gone. It was always better with just him and Sam.

They didn't need anyone else.

But the hiker must have called 911, because soon more people came; a Sheriff, paramedics. A coroner. They surrounded him, speaking, but Dean couldn't hear what they were saying to him. Wouldn't hear it.

They wanted to take Sam. Wanted to take his brother.

One of the paramedics reached out towards Sam's neck with a gloved hand, and Dean growled at him deep in his throat. A voice filtered in through the ocean that seemed to surround his brian.

"…need to let him go, son. Come on."

The Sheriff stepped towards him, hand outstretched placatingly.

_Let him go…_

"No!"

Dean clutched at his brother's cold body, shrinking back against the tree trunk. He saw the Sheriff motion to a paramedic, and then hands were on him, pulling him away from Sam.

"Sam," he screamed, "Sammy!"

A sharp, penetrating pain in his arm, and hot weakness flowed through him like a poison. His suddenly nerveless fingers slipped from Sam's shirt and he moaned at the loss of contact, head lolling back. The trees tilted around him until he was looking at sky.

He blinked heavily, and when he opened his eyes again, Sam was staring down at him.

Hope flared so strongly in him that he whimpered, struggling to keep his eyes open. Sam's face was close to his, his eyes clear and wide and locked firmly onto Dean's. Sunlight filtered through the edges of his hair, making it glow slightly. In fact, Sam himself seemed to glow, Dean's sluggish mind offering up the correct word – _luminous…_

"S'mmy," he slurred, pleading.

Sam stared at him with grief in his eyes, his mouth opening and moving but no sound coming out. He shook his head mournfully at Dean, pulling back slightly.

The distance allowed Dean to focus on the large, white wings that unfurled behind Sam, incandescent feathers ruffling gently in the breeze.

"No…" he moaned, understanding.

Sam's mouth moved again, and Dean realized fuzzily that Sam was trying to say _I'm sorry_. Then his brother's image leaned in, wings sweeping forward to encase him in radiant unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: The site is screwing up again, and I had to do some fancy footwork to be able to post this - if there are formatting errors, I apologize.

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_The werewolf snarled, moonlight glinting off of long, yellowed fangs._

_Dean stood rooted, trapped, directly in the beast's path. He knew that if he were to move, the werewolf would attack. And yet, if he stood still, he was equally screwed._

_"Come and get me, mother fucker…" he mumbled, more to convince himself that he wasn't scared than to challenge the monster. The creature dropped closer to the ground in a crouch, and Dean had time to think -_ here it comes_ – before it launched itself. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation, bracing for pain and death._

_There was an impact, a tearing in his side, but it wasn't simplythe claws and tearing teeth he'd been expecting – it was warm, solid, familiar – and as a gunshot exploded painfully close by, he opened his eyes._

_Sam had thrown him clear of the attack, firing as the werewolf flew at him._

_Dean opened his eyes in time to see the gnashing teeth close on his brother's chest, claws tearing at him as he screamed in agony._

_"Sammy!"_

_His brother gave a terrible, rattling gasp and went limp under the creature, which howled in rage and turned to flee. It staggered, limping, and Dean knew that Sam had dealt it a fatal wound._

_He crawled to his brother, his mind screaming **no, no, no, no, no** as he took in the impossible amount of blood soaking Sam's torso._

_"Sammy," he repeated, pulling Sam's head into his lap. "Oh, God…"_

_Dean could see his little brother's ribs in the wide wound, splintered fragments of white bone peppering his torn flesh as blood sluiced down his side._

_Sam gasped again, his eyes going wide as they locked onto Dean's face, and he tried to speak. Dark blood spilled over his lips and he coughed weakly._

_"Come on, Sam," Dean pleaded, pressing down on Sam's chest. He felt bones shift under his palm and Sam moaned piteously. "Please!"_

_"S'rry…" Sam rasped, his voice thick and labored. He made a choking sound in his throat, twitching weakly in Dean's lap, and his eyes slid lifelessly to stare at nothing._

_Dean felt his brother's chest still under his hand, felt the world implode into a meaningless nothing as his brother died in his arms._

* * *

Dean opened his eyes to a white hospital room, moaning as memory hit him.

Sam was dead.

Grief filled him like lead, and he was sure that his heart would not be able to move blood so heavy with loss. But the maddening thump, thump, thump continued in his chest, each beat a spiteful reminder that he was still alive.

An image drifted to the forefront of his mind – Sam staring down at him, luminous wings spread out behind him, and a bitter, hysterical laugh bubbled up within him.

He had obviously lost his mind.

A noise at the door alerted him to the presence of a doctor, and he stared blankly at the man's sickeningly sympathetic face.

"Mr. Jones," the man said gently, and Dean foggily recalled having that ID in his pocket. He didn't respond. Couldn't think of a single reason why he should bother with anything.

The man cleared his throat and stepped further into the room, glancing down at a chart in his hands.

"You're doing very well, Mr. Jones. The wound to your side was deep but nothing vital was injured. You're going to survive."

Survive. Not live. He was done living, no matter what his body thought. He vaguely recalled bleeding, realizing that he had not completely escaped harm. Hoping that he would die.

"We found the wolf that attacked you, dead, and we're running some tests to be sure that it didn't have rabies."

He paused, seemingly expecting Dean to say something.

"My brother," he said softly, "He's dead."

"Yes," the doctor said sadly, "I'm very sorry, Mr. Jones. He was dead when you were found. There were massive internal injuries. There was nothing you could have done."

Except die for him. Except not let him sacrifice himself for me.

Dean rolled away from the pitying expression on the doctor's face, staring at the wall. He heardhim leave, not caring but still aware, and sighed.

There was a gentle movement to his left, and when he turned his head, Sam was standing at the foot of his bed.

Dean laughed again, sounding insane to his own ears.

"So it's gonna be like this, I guess," he said conversationally to the hallucination. "I'm fucking crazy."

Sam tilted his head sadly, wings stretching and retracting slightly. They glowed under the hospital lights, stretching up over his brother's head, the wingfeathers trailing on the bland linoleum.

"Never saw you as a wing kinda guy, Sammy," he said bitterly to the apparition. "Don't know why I'm imagining you like this…"

Sam was dressed in his favorite jeans and dark blue shirt, looking for all the world like he always had – with the glaring exception of the wings that framed him. He blinked silently at Dean, extending a hand in a pleading gesture.

"You aren't real," Dean insisted, pain clenching at his heart. "Not anymore…"

Sam's wings slumped slightly, the tips bending against the floor. His face was full of a terrible, sad wisdom, but he smiled gently at Dean.

Dean felt the impact of it like a punch to his gut – a painful echo of the smiles he would never see again outside of grief-induced hallucinations.

"Go away," he said brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut against his brother's face.

He counted to ten silently, listening to his traitorous heart beating strongly.

When he opened his eyes again, Sam was gone.

It shouldn't have hurt as badly as losing Sam the first time.

But it did.

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A/N: Next part soon... if I can crawl out of the depression writing this fic puts me in! 


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING**: This chapter contians non-graphic descriptions of sex.

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Dean checked himself out of the hospital AMA the next day, ignoring the disapproving doctor's pleas to reconsider. He'd made arrangements to have Sam cremated, the funeral home directorlooking unsettled by Dean's refusal ofa service or wake.

It would be another two days before he could pick up Sam's ashes, so he'd hitched a ride back to where the Impala was parked. The car had been his prized possession once, but now ti seemed hollow and unimportant, a cold hunk of metal. Despite finding it unharmed he was unable to feel any releif - only emptiness.

Inside the car, he'd been immobilized by the sight of Sam's worn sneakers on the passenger seat floor, still laced. He'd stared at the shoes for a good twenty minutes, hands clenched on the steering wheel.

There were signs of his brother all over the interior – a Snickers wrapper on the floor, his laptop in the backseat – as though Sam would open the passenger door at any moment.

Dean clamped down fiercely on that train of thought, turning the key and firing up the engine with a roar. Metallica's _Fade to Black_ filled the car, and he savagely struck the eject button to silence it.

They had been listening to the tape on their way to track down the werewolf, Sammy bitching about Dean's taste while discretely tapping his foot to the rhythm. It had been one of Dean's favorite songs – now itwas like swallowing glass just to hear it.

Silence suited him just fine, these days.

A few miles down the road, he caught Sam's face in the rear-view mirror.

It didn't surprise him - though he supposed most people would have driven off the road if a deceased loved-one appeared unexpectedly in their backseat.

He'd been seeing his brother, off and on, since they'd sedated him in the woods. Sam would just show up, stand silently, and stare at Dean as though he had some amazing, devastating revelation to share. But he never spoke, never made a sound, and Dean had begun trying to ignore him, hoping that the delusion would pass.

After all – it wasn't _really_ Sam, just a pathetic attempt by his grief-stricken mind to resurrect his brother. The real Sam was gone, dead, cold, never coming back.

The Sam hallucination in the backseat met his eyes as he glanced in the mirror, unblinking and stoic.

"You mind tucking those ridiculous fucking wings a little, Sammy? You're blocking my rear-view with all those sissy feathers," he said bitterly, unable to resist speaking to the figment.

Sam's image smiled beatifically, surrounded by white, and Dean had the sudden urge to get fall-down, black-out drunk.

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He found the closest bar, a seedy looking dive called The Bootstrap. It was dark, dirty, and full of distrustful looking bikers.

Perfect.

He ordered a shot of vodka, tossing a twenty at the bartender to leave the bottle. The alcohol burned a cold trail down his throat, and he drank with single-minded determination.

Pour. Swallow. Breathe.

Repeat as necessary until numb and/or unconscious.

Halfway through the bottle and feeling decidedly unsteady, he caught the eye of a decent-looking woman at the end of the bar. She smiled coquettishly, leaning forward so he could see down the front of her low-cut shirt. He didn't bother to smile back, but stared at her coldly as she flirted from across the room.

His aloofness seemed to encourage her, though, and soon she made her way over to him. She leaned against him intimately, purring dirty invitations in his ear.

So he took her behind the bar and fucked her - no muttered endearments, no gentleness or promises of something more - just a raw, desperate pursuit of mutual release. He moved in her with a savageness that frightened him, and for a moment he worried that he'd hurt her.

But she moaned and writhed against the alley wall, nails digging into his shoulders as he tore open her shirt, and the concern had been fleeting.

He didn't make a sound as they moved against each other, his hands braced on the bricks on either side of her head. The pleasure that coursed through him soured in his veins, and he welcomed the bitterness.

Life without Sammy was _supposed_ to hurt.

Maybe that was why his brother appeared to be standing in the alley with them, glowing gently amidst the trash and broken glass, like a piece of Heaven lost in Dean's personal Hell. The empty promise of what would never be his again.

Dean closed his eyes against Sam's mournful expression, burying his face in the woman's neck as he came.

He gasped roughly as warm release surged trough his body, washing away the numbness, and tears rushed to his eyes.

He felt overwhelmingly alive.

And that was the worst part of it all.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed :) 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I know it's been quite a while since I posted, but life has been hectic and I've had no time. I'll try to be more regular about posting, but in the meantime here's a short little update. :)

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Dean woke slowly to the feeling of pavement and grime under his cheek, the taste of vomit in his mouth.

He wondered absently where he was, but couldn't really bring himself to give a shit about the answer. He lay unmoving for a few minutes, feeling the sun beat down on his back, before a shadow moved over him.

He rolled his head wearily upward, moaning as he saw Sam crouched above him, wings blocking the sunlight. His brother was staring at him with an exasperated look on his face, somehow sad and angry and amused all at the same time. It was that familiar _Dean, you're such an immature fuck-up but I love you_ look, and Dean's felt his face twist with pain.

"G'way…" Dean mumbled, swiping the back of an arm over his sour-tasting mouth.

Sam rocked back a little on his heels, hands dangling between his knees as he regarded Dean with a thoughtful expression.

_Fucking hallucination…_ Dean thought bitterly. He turned away, determined to ignore the way the imaginary Sam's hair moved in the breeze, or how his chest rose and fell. How his eyes blinked, every lash painfully defined, as he stared unerringly.

Dean groaned and pushed himself to his feet, noted indifferently that he was in an alley. Dizziness rolled through him and he stumbled. Closing his eyes tightly, he threw out an arm to get his balance. When he openedthem again, Sam was standing in front of him.

"Go. Away," he ground out. Senseless rage filled him.

Sam shook his head sadly, his wings slumped.

"Sam is _gone_, you aren't _him_! Sam is just a box of fucking ashes now, and you're just a god damn hallucination, you understand? You're not my brother!"

Dean struck at the image, wanting to smash it, but his fist passed straight through Sam's chest. As Dean pulled his hand back, a painful flash of light exploded behind his eyes. He heard his brother's voice echo, as though from far away –

_Dean! Don't give up, please…_

Then his ass was connecting painfully with the pavement again, his teeth clacking together as he hit. He blinked several times to clear his vision, dazed. His mind felt thick and hung over, wrung senseless by rage and grief.

Sam was walking away from him, most of his back obscured by white feathers. A sudden, wrenching sense of loss filled Dean, and he took several steps towards the hallucination's retreating form before he even realized he was moving.

His brother's image disappeared around the corner of the alley, and Dean stumbled hastily to where the alley opened onto the street. Several people drew back from him as they passed, walking briskly down the sidewalk. A young mother drew her child to the other side of the street, casting anxious, protective looks in his direction.

He ignored them, eyes locked onto Sam where he stood a hundred feet away. His brother was facing him again, and Dean thought absently that he shouldn't have been able to see how green Sam's eyes were from such a distance.

Then his foggy mind caught up with his eyes, and he realized that the people on the sidewalk were walking _around_ his brother, not through him as Dean would have expected. His heart galloped with sudden, blinding hope and fear.

'Sammy," he croaked questioningly, and the image smiled gently at him. Dean bit back a whimper and stumbled down the sidewalk, pushing at alarmed-looking pedestrians as he went. He heard someone cry out and fall behind him, people's voices raised in anger and shock.

Then a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, turning him roughly as the world spun lazily to follow.

"Hey! You just knocked my wife over, asshole! What the he-"

Dean cut him off with a hard right hook to his jaw, his mind narrowed down to one objective – _get to Sam_.

The man dropped soundlessly, unconscious before he hit the sidewalk, and Dean heard a woman scream nearby. More hands grabbed at him, and he lashed out mindlessly. He caught a glimpse of police blue but didn't stop, kicking and screaming.

Once, Dean would have taken them easily. But he was dulled by alcohol and loss, and soon they had him pinned to the ground as they fastened his wrists behind his back.

"Sam," he screamed, his voice breaking. "I didn't mean it! Don't go!"

He lifted his head from the sidewalk, peering past the circle of gawking citizens to the place his brother had stood.

But Sam was gone.

And, mercifully, a moment later Dean was, too.

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End file.
